


Working Late

by LondonGypsy



Category: Agent Pendergast Series - Douglas Preston & Lincoln Child
Genre: Exhaustion, Feelings, Fluff, M/M, One thing leads to another, Working Late
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-07
Updated: 2015-07-07
Packaged: 2018-04-08 03:18:04
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4288689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LondonGypsy/pseuds/LondonGypsy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They were working late.<br/>Things happen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Working Late

**Author's Note:**

> Well then: very first try with these two (which I've never thought would work but good lord, they work - so very well!!!)  
> Anyhow, I've been going through the tag and there's so few (yet so amazing) fic and just had to try my hands on them.  
> So there you go! Be gentle. 
> 
> A HUGE Thank You to the lovely [BeautifullyHeeled](http://archiveofourown.org/users/beautifullyheeled/pseuds/beautifullyheeled) for the superfast beta!!!   
> Any remaining mistakes are mine.

A fire was burning in the old fireplace, filling the spacious library with the sound of crackling wood.

Vincent D'Agosta was deeply immersed in the case file on his lap, only looking up as the half empty glass on the side table was replaced with a fresh one.

He glanced up at Proctor whose face was as stoic as always. The man nodded quietly at him and then turned towards the only other person currently occupying the room.

"Anything else, Sir?"

A low hum came from the shadowy depth of the wing-chair opposite, and apparently it was a confirmation because Proctor nodded again and left, soundlessly closing the heavy door behind him.

Silence fell again, only disturbed by the rustling of paper and the scratching of a pen.

Eventually D'Agosta threw his file towards the floor, to have it meet with the rest piling up next to his chair.

"I don't get it," he groaned, rubbing his eyes, reaching for his beer. It was chilled, condensation leaving a damp ring on the coaster as he took a long sip.

The only response was yet another hum, echoing through the vastness of the room.

D'Agosta squinted against the gleam of the fire but the only thing he could see was a dark outline against the aged leather of the chair.

Shrugging he stood and stretched his aching muscles. He glanced at his watch: almost two am.

"Maybe we should call it a night," he suggested, "we've been looking for hours already."

But he was only greeted with silence again.

Rolling his eyes, he started walking towards the windows. But then he remembered that they were shuttered and sealed, making it impossible to look out. Muttering under his breath he turned back, letting his eyes wander through the darkness. Only a small area around the fireplace was dimly lit by the fire itself; the two small lamps next to each chair, even though arranged in front of them, barely illuminated the space. The many bookshelves were hidden in the shadows, towering over the room like something viscous.

A cold shiver ran down his spine and he hurried back towards this small island of light and warmth. Who knew what was lurking in the dark corners. He knew enough of the place to be wary. Not frightened, no, only... careful.

As he flopped back into his seat he thought he heard a faint chuckle. It was too quiet to be sure. He narrowed his eyes, trying to look past the gloomy dimness.

"Nothing to be afraid of, my dear Vincent," came the soft southern drawl from the depth of the large wing chair.

D'Agosta snorted, feeling heat creep up his cheeks.

"Easy for you to say. Who knows what's creeping in this house."

"Nothing I don't know about."

The worn leather creaked and the lithe form of Aloysius Pendergast leaned forward, his pale eyes twinkling with barely concealed mirth.

D'Agosta scoffed and settled back into his own chair. As always Pendergast saw through his facade. And yet he found himself caring less and less, sometimes even appreciated it - it had saved him from more than one embarrassment during their work together.

"Still, don't understand how you can live here when you have a perfectly uncreepy place downtown," he said, taking another sip of his beer.

Pendergast's lips twitched in amusement.

"I've found that I can work much better here," he replied calmly, "it helps to focus."

" _It_?" D'Agosta asked, "It, what?"

He was genuinely curious. He had been to Pendergast's apartment at the Dakota. And while he himself couldn't imagine living there, it was definitely better than this bedraggled house full of dark corners and strange spaces. Not to forget the frankly distressing collection downstairs.

He suppressed a shudder, hoping Pendergast didn't notice it.

But of course he did.

A smirk was dancing over his lips as he said, "Being secluded from the outside world can sharpen the mind, Vincent. Keeps you from distractions. And it helps you concentrating fully on the task at hand."

He raised a pale eyebrow and then leaned back, vanishing into the shadows again.

D'Agosta stared a little longer before he shook his head, partly amused and partly annoyed.

"You're a strange man, Pendergast," he muttered lowly which only got him one of the man's enigmatic half smiles.

"Shall we get back to work, Vincent? I have the feeling we're close."

Pendergast's deep honeyed voice washed over D'Agosta, and somehow it gave him new energy.

Taking up the discarded file he went over it again, trying to find that last straw they needed to nail their suspect. They had worked tirelessly for days now, going through every possible connection they could think of, digging through years of files and cases even remotely relevant. The ceaseless intensity of the special agent had kept D'Agosta going, not wanting to stand back behind his friend's ruthless desire to find the serial killer who had been terrorizing New York for several past weeks.

Time became irrelevant as they worked silently, the fire slowly dying down.

Suddenly Pendergast jumped to his feet, startling D'Agosta out of a doze.

"What?" he asked, watching sleepily how Pendergast shuffled through the thick folders strewn over the small table.

He didn't get an answer. Hazily he checked his watch again and was only slightly shocked that it announced well past four in the morning.

No wonder he felt weary. He could barely keep his eyes open, and his back hurt from sitting in the chair for so long.

There was a triumphant 'ha' from Pendergast and D'Agosta sat up a bit straighter as he stood and hurried over to the laptop set up on a table nearby. He started typing frantically.

D'Agosta watched him through heavy lids. Despite the late - or early - hour his black suit was impeccable, not a crease out of place. The only sign showing that they've been up for over 48 hours was his loosened tie and the slightly disheveled hair at the nape of his neck.

He let his eyes slide over the man's lean body - thin and wiry yet D'Agosta knew about the hidden strength in his arms and his elegant hands with the long nimble fingers.

He could take out a man double the size of him - had done so quite some times without even breaking into sweat and D'Agosta sometimes wondered if he was working out.

Probably not - he just couldn't picture him in a gym, pushing weights. And yet his mind provided him with images of the other man in workout clothes, clinging to his lean body, sweat soaked and outlining the muscles D'Agosta knew were there. His blond hair plastered to his head, his icy eyes narrowed, shoulders flexing under a thin shirt.

"Vincent?"

He blinked surprised. Pendergast stood in front of him, head tilted, and D'Agosta instinctively knew he had called his name more than once already.

Ignoring the slightly elevated pounding of his heart, he looked up.

"Yes, sorry, I'm here."

Pendergast narrowed his eyes, and for a moment he reminded D'Agosta of a cat watching its prey. No, not a cat. A jaguar, elegant and deadly, silently stalking and pouncing when you least expect it.

He shook his head hard, trying to stop those irritating thoughts.

"Go home, Vincent," Pendergast said, his cool gaze somewhat softening, "I've found something, but the fact checking might take a while and you don't need to stay. Get some rest. We can pursue that trace tomorrow."

D'Agosta nodded; he was dead tired, barely able to think straight anymore - he wouldn't be of any help in this state.

He scrambled to his feet, swaying as he fought to stay upright, the exhaustion from the past days eventually catching up - and quickly.

A warm hand closed around his bicep, steadying him, and he leaned instinctively into the secure grip.

Everything was blurry and yet overly sharp, like an overly lucid dream.

D'Agosta could smell the subtle musk of Pendergast's aftershave, heard the rustling of his clothes as he moved, felt the warmth of his palm even through his jacket.

He felt woozy, his knees buckled and with a sharp inhale Pendergast tightened his hold on his arm.

"Sit down," he heard and didn't object as he was steered back into the wing chair. He fell into the soft leather, inhaling heavily.

He blinked a few times, trying to clear his clouded view, fatigue weighing him down like a burden.

"I think I might have underestimated the extent of work we put into this," Pendergast said quietly. D'Agosta heard him walk around the room and then the tinkling sound of a liquid poured into a glass.

"Here, that should help."

A tumbler was gently pressed into his hand and obediently he drained it in one gulp.

It tasted like nothing D'Agosta had ever drunk but it went down his throat easily. Only seconds later he felt a warm sensation coursing through his veins, evicting the leaden fatigue.

He sniffed at the last remaining drops and raised a questioning eyebrow at the agent.

"Family secret," Pendergast said, the hint of a smile illuminating those normally ice cool eyes.

D'Agosta stared at them, noticing for the very first time the man's long lashes. He also thought he observed a concerned expression on Pendergast's fine features.

"I'm deeply sorry, dear Vincent, I sometimes-"

Whatever he wanted to say the words died on his lips as D'Agosta reached out to smooth the fine lines on Pendergast's forehead. His thumb was trembling only slightly as he moved them over pale skin, trying to erase the signs of worry. Pendergast's skin was incredibly warm; for some strange reason D'Agosta had always thought skin as pale as his must be cool.

He had no idea what had come over him, and later he would blame the lack of sleep, the intimate atmosphere in the room, the clearly very alcoholic concoction Pendergast had just given him.

But right now he was drowning the man's endless eyes, clear blue and bright, watching him so attentively a quiet shiver ran down D'Agosta's spine.

His thumb, still gently sliding over Pendergast's forehead moved lower, brushing over his coarse brow, tickling his oversensitive fingertip.

Pendergast went utterly still and his eyes widened for a split second before they narrowed again. He slowly raised a hand and seized D'Agosta's wrist, lowered his hand.

"Vincent, I think it's best-" he started but D'Agosta shushed him. Somehow he managed to free his hand and put a finger over Pendergast's lips.

He exhaled sharply, his fingers still curled around D'Agosta's wrist, pressing into his exposed skin.

D'Agosta swallowed, his mouth suddenly dry, his entire focus on the man before him.

He shook his head, whether it was to clear his head or to stop the other man from objecting, he didn't know.

He only knew he wanted to look at him for a bit longer; the defined curves and angles of his face, with its chiseled cheekbones as if carved from marble, the straight nose, the delicate curve of his mouth.

Everything but Pendergast's form, crouched in front of him, faded from his awareness.

His eyes flitted over the agent's face and he faintly wondered how he'd never noticed what a beautiful man he was.

No, he _had_ noticed. The very first day they had met. Had seen something in his graceful way of moving around a crime scene, almost like a dancer, quick and purposeful, not one motion wasted.

But he had ignored it, had pushed those stray thoughts to the very back of his mind.

They closed the case together and went their separate ways. D'Agosta tried to forget the extraordinary man.

But they had crossed paths again and again, and slowly D'Agosta had to admit to himself that he was rather drawn to the man no matter what his Nonna's voice in his head told him.

All those things washed over him in a split second and he realized that he couldn't let go, even if he wanted to.

His fingertip was still resting over Pendergast's lips; neither man had moved, each of them frozen in place.

Slowly, very slowly, D'Agosta moved his hand, slid his fingers over the side of Pendergast's face, cradling it in his palm. He felt the faint hint of stubble against his skin, and he smiled absently - the man _was_ indeed, human, no matter his otherworldly appearance.

"Something I said?"

Pendergast's words sounded loud after the long silence even though he barely moved his lips, and his voice was unusually hoarse.

D'Agosta shook his head. He trailed a fingertip over the faint five o'clock shadow on the other man's jaw.

"Just this," he murmured, utterly enthralled in the scratchy feeling and the slowly spreading warmth beneath his touch.

He squinted and yes, there was the faintest of blushes blossoming on the ever so composed agent's face. D'Agosta smiled wider, caressing the heating skin and watching with astonishment as Pendergast's lids fluttered and then slid closed.

A soft sigh escaped his throat and for a moment D'Agosta's heart stopped at the absoluteness of this.

He stared, and stared, not able to look away.

Only as Pendergast's translucent lids opened again and caught his gaze, did he realize that he was holding his breath. The man's eyes were glittering like diamonds.

"Are you going to kiss me anytime soon or are you going to keep staring? Which is impolite and-"

D'Agosta huffed a sarcastic laugh at the utter absurdity of the question, and at their entire situation.

Curling his hand around the nape of Pendergast's neck, he pulled him down, sealing his lips over the agent's yielding mouth.

The low moan vibrating through Pendergast shot an unexpected jolt of desire through D'Agosta and he pulled the agent closer. His free hand crept over his arm, feeling the muscles quiver under his touch.

Before he could deepen the kiss Pendergast retreated. D'Agosta whined helplessly, bereft of the warmth and solidity of the other man.

He heard a soothing sound, a strong hand slipped into his and then he was on his feet, Pendergast's sinewy body pressing against his.

Forcing his eyes open his breath caught in his chest as he met the agent's darkened gaze.

Pendergast watched him so intensely that D'Agosta had trouble to return the look - he'd never seen him so focused, so concentrated on something.

He tried to withstand, tried to hold himself together, but the scrutiny of the other man got to him. D’Agosta chose,  leaned forward and brushed his mouth over the inviting curve of Pendergast's lower lip to stop himself from overthinking it all.

The raspy moan filling the air between them was shockingly loud.

Slender fingers ghosted over the back of his neck, twisting in the fine hair, then warm lips covered his own again fully, pressing hard against him.

D'Agosta groaned lowly, his jaw went slack and then there was a hot tongue in his mouth, searching for his.

He tasted something sharp, and intoxicating, and utterly addictive.

Sharp teeth grazed over the sensitive skin of his lip and he couldn't suppress the longing sigh, digging his fingers deep into the hard curve of Pendergast's shoulder.

“Vincent.”

Only a quiet murmur in the dark but it shot straight through him and he trembled.

D'Agosta slipped his hand up and for a second he was shocked to find the short hairs silky beneath his fingers, but then Pendergast's tongue twisted around his own and he gasped at the sensation.

“Aloysius...” he whispered, the name foreign and yet utterly right on his tongue.

They broke apart, foreheads touching, breath mingling, hearts beating too fast.

He felt Pendergast's fingers threading through his thinning hair, and his first reaction was to pull back. A shameful feeling settled in his stomach but Pendergast seemed to have anticipated it.

"Shhh," he whispered, his free hand gliding down D'Agosta's arm until he found his hand and weaved their fingers together.

Wordlessly they stood there, eyes roaming each other's face, noses so close they were almost touching.

D'Agosta cleared his throat and Pendergast rose a curious eyebrow at him.

"I should go home," D'Agosta eventually managed to say, shocked at the gravelly quality of his voice.

Pendergast's dark eyes regarded him closely, and then he nodded, slowly loosening his hand around D'Agosta's.

"If you must," he said, a sharp note in his tone. It shot a cold sensation through D'Agosta, and instantly he closed the distance between them again.

Carefully, slowly he lifted his hand, hesitated, and then laid it on Pendergast's cheek, his thumb immediately drawn to the man's lower lip.

"Want me to stay?" he asked hoarsely, overly aware of his hammering heart and his racing pulse. He watched his own finger, outlining the other man's lip almost hypnotically, waiting for an answer with baited breath.

His answer would determine their future relationship: as partners, as colleagues.

If he said no, he would leave and try to forget this little episode, blame it on the circumstances of the night.

If he said yes... well, it would open a new chapter for them both.

Right now they were balancing precariously on a ledge, neither here nor there and he realized he had absolutely no idea what the answer would be.

"My dear Vincent," Pendergast said unusually softly, locking his gaze with D'Agosta's, "don't you know the answer to that question?"

D'Agosta had to bite back a laugh. Ever the enigma, never one for a straight answer, not even now, he thought to himself.

"Should I?" he asked back, ignoring the quiet flutter in his stomach.

The brief flicker of a smile was so quick D'Agosta wasn't sure he had seen it.

"But yes, Vincent, you should."

And before D'Agosta could say anything Pendergast cradled his face and kissed him again, a brief but thorough kiss that left D'Agosta yearning for more as the agent broke away.

"Shall we go to bed?" he asked and only the two high spots of color on his cheeks betrayed his cool tone.

D'Agosta's stomach flipped and he nodded mutely.

Fingers still tightly entwined he followed Pendergast as he walked towards the door.

The embers in the fireplace died further down and soon the library was dark, casefiles abandoned where they laid.

 

 


End file.
